


All the Things That Never Happened

by SunkenLucidDreams



Category: Oxenfree (Video Game)
Genre: Alex and Jonas are not related, Angst, Divorce, F/F, F/M, M/M, Memory Loss, Michael resurrected, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, There will be no rape in this fic, Underage Drinking, alternate timeline after Edward's Island: Michael isn't dead, but it's still weird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27676964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunkenLucidDreams/pseuds/SunkenLucidDreams
Summary: “Are you going to bring him back?”The question hits me hard in the ribs. My heart whispers “yes”, but my tongue feels swollen and heavy, and my teeth are like bars jailing my guilty conscience. My sneakers scratch over the cement steps of the parks building on Edward’s Island, the lamplight hanging high above us, buzzing ambiently. I can’t look at him. I can’t look at Jonas and tell him that he isn’t enough. That he isn’t really my brother. I can’t tell him that because it’s not true.
Relationships: Alex/Jonas (Oxenfree), Clarissa/Michael (Oxenfree), Clarissa/Nona (Oxenfree)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 18





	1. They Never Happened

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a big Alex and Jonas shipper, so this takes place in the alternate timeline where Alex saves Michael and Jonas stops being her step-brother. I'm also a big fan of angst, so prepare yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some edits to this chapter! Alex's hair is brown now because she had only dyed it after Michael's death.

_“Are you going to bring him back?”  
The question hits me hard in the ribs. My heart whispers “yes”, but my tongue feels swollen and heavy, and my teeth are like bars jailing my guilty conscience. My sneakers scratch over the cement steps of the parks building on Edward’s Island, the lamplight hanging high above us, buzzing ambiently. I can’t look at him. I can’t look at Jonas and tell him that he isn’t enough. That he isn’t really my brother. I can’t tell him that because it’s not true._

  
***  
Michael stands at the head of the boat, arm around Clarissa’s shoulders. When she catches me staring, she smiles softly towards me. Of course, no one really remembers certain parts of Edward’s Island. To everyone else, Michael was the one on this trip. I look around the boat and feel a tug at my chest; Jonas isn’t here. He never was. In that way, it feels like I killed him…at least who he had become during our loops on the Island, the countless hours spent together in conversation, in trying to make sense of what was happening to us; really getting to know one another and, by the end, love one another. But he isn’t my brother, anymore. He’s a stranger, back in his hometown of Westedge, maybe, angry and hurt over his mom, not knowing that only an hour away I’m thinking about him. Missing him.  
Finally, on our 265th loop on Edward’s Island, we’re finally able to leave. The ghosts all now laid to rest; the miserable history of those who lived there abandoned to collect dust. Maggie Adler, Anna Shea, Francis Salter, and all the men and women of the Kanaloa, now at peace, without thought or form or anger. It’s a lonely feeling, to be the only one to know the full truth. For everyone else, we experienced the horror of Edward’s Island and all escaped alive. Michael and Clarissa are back in a relationship and determined to be happy. Ren pouts a little bit inside the seating area of the ferry, and Nona rubs her hands over her arms against the chill of the breeze near Clarissa and Michael. Nona and Clarissa will never remember the relationship they started, or their first kiss with one another, and now Nona will have to live with her feelings crushed beneath her crossed arms, happy for her friend who she’s loved for years. But Michael is there, and he’s happy, and I notice that the memory of watching him drown is fading away from me, a memory that never happened.

  
But I won’t let that happen with Jonas. I take out my phone and open a notes page:

  
_Jonas-  
Dark brown hair, green eyes. Lives in Westedge. Wears his mother’s ring on a chain around his neck. Smoker. Kind. Lockpicker. Always wearing a beanie. Lost his mom to cancer. Tall. Good old boy type. Smells like smoke and forest. Smiles a lot. Quick to irritation, but not to anger. Protected me on the Island, “Supervisor Jonas”. Doesn’t really like Ren. A good friend. A good brother._

  
I quickly close out of the notes app, suddenly feeling overcome. I miss him, I know that’s all it is, because it feels like I killed him even though he’s just back in North Valley, probably playing video games or wreaking havoc on local shops with old locks. He isn’t thinking of me. He probably never will. He’s alive, but all the memories I have with him, all the things we told each other, confided in each other about, everything…gone.

  
Ren gives me a ride home. He throws his bag in the back, trying to make a joke about having a magical chocolatey snack before driving home, but it falls flat.

  
“Hey, Alex, are you okay?” he asks, turning the key in the ignition.

  
“Yeah, yeah…just tired,” I say, my shoes crunching over bottles and empty chip bags as I settle into the passenger side. I grip my coat tighter around me and realize suddenly that’s its my own…not Michael’s. I look out the window to watch Michael and Clarissa get into his truck. As Clarissa gets in, I watch him put his red jacket over her shoulders. She smiles, kissing him passionately before hopping in. For her, Michael never died. For Ren, he never had to sit in a blanket fort in eleventh grade while I cried my eyes out, calling out my brother’s name like I did the day he drowned.

  
When we get back into town, Ren and I stop at Jimmy’s, ordering two chai lattes and a large cinnamon bun to split. It feels weird, to drink something other than the beer Nona had brought to the Island with her, and I only realize now that I haven’t eaten anything in…how long? Almost a year? The warmth of the food, the sugary flavor, the normalcy of it, it feels almost…

  
“You’re feeling weird, too?” Ren asks, and I nod, grateful to not be the only one. The buzz of conversation around us, the hard seat of the booth we’re sitting in, and the smell of breakfast sizzling in the back kitchen is all too surreal.

  
“It feels like at any moment I could blink and be on that ferry again. It’s…hard to accept that we got out. I really didn’t think we ever would.” I blow softly on my latte.

  
“Don’t jinx us, Alex, I would have to disown you.”

  
I roll my eyes and tear off another piece of the cinnamon bun. “I know that we’re really back…we never actually got home before, in the loops, we always started back while we were on the ferry.”

  
Ren groans. “Oh Jesus…we’re gonna have to go back to school! Honestly, I feel like we deserve some time off. We’re traumatized!”

  
“Yeah, but…Ren, if we tell people they’ll assume we’re lying or crazy, and I don’t really want anyone thinking anything about me.” Ren gives a defeated and exaggerated sigh in response.

  
“Well, people would probably believe your brother, if he ever wanted to say anything. He’s the town’s little darling.” He says. I clam up, still unsure of how to talk about Michael. I’m still so used to using the past tense; “Michael _was_ this” or “He _had_ so much potential.” But now, somewhere in Camena, he’s going about his life, probably still with Clarissa. The farther we get from the Island, I notice my memories starting to fog and shift. There’s a year worth of memories taking place of the old ones- while the old ones don’t disappear completely, they start to feel like images from a bad dream. Michael was accepted on scholarship to Camena Community College. He sees it as a compromise- stay in town for his Associates Degree, watch me graduate, and then he and Clarissa can head to New York, like they wanted. He lives on his own, now, but checks in with me usually two or three times a week. Mom and Dad fight a lot, so he likes to make sure I’m doing okay.

  
There are new memories about me, too. Since Michael stayed in town, I still haven’t pushed myself to learn how to swim; that goal has been placed on the backburner in my mind. Now I’ve been accepted into Camena Community College (though admittedly not on a fancy scholarship) and I’m set to start in the Fall. Michael has already started giving me hints and tips about professors to approach and avoid, which cafeterias on the campus are better than others, things like that. He’s excited for me to join him and Clarissa on the campus. Mom and Dad fight more than ever, but they’re still married. Even though none of us say it, it’s clear that they’re just waiting for me to graduate and move out. Clarissa and Michael come over for dinner every Thursday, which, coincidentally, is the night Mom and Dad are on their best behavior. Every other night of the week we either have quiet, tense meals or, more likely, I eat in my room and they take dinner in their own offices or the living room.

  
“Alex? Alex, are you okay? You’re spacing out… Oh, oh I bet you _stole one of my brownies_ , didn’t you? Hypocrite.”

  
“I didn’t steal your brownies Ren. I’m just…I’m having a hard time adjusting. There’s so much changing.”

  
“What do you mean? Michael doesn’t leave for New York for at least another year. I mean, I guess we’re graduating soon and that’s pretty big, but-”

  
“No, no…It’s hard to explain. The Island just... really messed with me.” I don’t know why I’m lying to Ren. Why I don’t tell him about Jonas. I don’t know why I hold that secret to my chest, like it’s something worth hiding. I tell myself that I don’t say anything because Ren’s been through enough already, but that’s a lie, and I know it. Ren, never one to do well in serious conversations, tries to overturn it. “It messed with all of us, Alex. This’ll be like…our thing, you know? Like when a group of "wine-night" suburban moms band together to cover up an accidental murder.”

  
“You really need to stop watching that show.”

  
“It’s catty! I can’t help it.” He pulls off a chunk of Cinnabon, sucking the glaze off his fingers as he finishes it.

  
I ask Ren to drop me off at my house. Against my best efforts, tears well in my eyes and my heart fills suddenly, almost to an ache. _Home_. I race up the steps to the porch and pull my keys out of my pocket. When I get inside, I look for my mom and my dad, poking my head into every room. When I realize they aren’t there, I feel like Icarus, crashing back down to Earth. My shoes thump noisily on the steps up to my room. I had forgotten the smell. Like pencils, clean laundry and Kool-Aid, which I had left in a glass by my bed the night before I had left for the Island. My laundry sits in a baby blue basket on the corner of my bed, unfolded. There’s shirts and pants and other shoes scattered in the closet area where I had tried different outfits, trying to figure out the “look” I wanted for the senior trip. I’m thankful to past me that I chose sensible boots. There are some things there, however, that I don’t remember having. Things which the Alex in the “my brother didn’t die” universe had collected over the past year. It makes it feel like I body-snatched her, like I’m looking back on her memories, but they aren’t mine. But, at the same time, now the memories I have from my own original timeline are fading into that same grey area of “it happened but it never happened.” From what I can tell, I’m the only one aware of the change. There's a mirror hung up next to the closet on the wall, and I'm frozen by my reflection, my teal hair now brown, its natural color. I touch my fingers to it and it doesn't have that dehydrated quality of hair dye on it. it's softer than it had been before Michael died- I guess it makes sense. I had only dyed it after that.

  
When Mom and Dad do come home, they ask me how my trip was. Dad gives me a big hug and it takes everything I have to let go of him, pretend that I haven’t fantasized about this exact moment for almost a year. Mom kisses me on the forehead and asks me if I was drinking on the Island and she raises her eyebrows at me when I actually tell her the truth, but only purses her lips a little. Mom makes spaghetti but dad chooses to eat takeout in his office. I stand in the kitchen while mom cooks, feeling adrift and melancholy, dissociated. I want to hug her with all my might, but remember that for her, I’ve only been gone a night. She tells me that it’s okay if I want to eat in my room, and I say okay. The spaghetti tastes like the sum of its parts, devoid of the same energy and warmth it used to have when Michael and I were little, when Mom was happy. I set the dirty dishes on my desk and flop back onto my bed, shutting off my lamp. In the dark my eyes stick open, afraid to close, afraid that if they do, they’ll open in the seating area of the Edward’s Island ferry. It’s a long time before I fall asleep.

***  
The next morning Ren pulls into our driveway, making small talk with my mom who is already awake while I pull on my shoes. I have to crunch over the trash on the passenger side floor of his car again and groan. “Jeez, Ren, it’s a pigsty in here!”

  
“Hey, hey, listen Ms. I-failed-my-driving-test, I could leave you at the mercy of the bus! I hold your fate in my hands, like a small bird.”

  
I roll my eyes and smirk at him. “I’d give you only one star on Uber. Terrible service.”

  
“Oh, that’s real cold, Alex. I think that’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  
“Yeah, to your face.”

  
It feels good, feels organic, to fall back into the easy rhythm of our lives, to catch back onto old habits. We talk the whole way to school, and I feel a weight starting to lift from my shoulders. Maybe I can forget. Maybe a month from now, or a year from now, the things that never happened won’t bother me anymore.  
But being in classes again is almost irritating. I don’t remember a single thing from before we had left for the Island the first time. I open up my notebooks in each of my morning classes, and there I see my neat, tiny handwriting, class notes dated up until last Friday. At lunch, Ren and I look for Nona but don’t see her.

  
***  
I toss my backpack onto my shoulder, closing and turning the dial on my locker before heading to my next class. The science lab is cold, and I put my sweater back on, wrapping the sleeves down over my palms. I pull out my chemistry binder and hand in my worksheet with everyone else. I sit alone at a lab station, thankful that I don’t have to adapt my energy to engage with a fellow classmate. Mr. Edgers is just about to start on our next lesson when there’s a soft knock on the classroom door. He leaves into the hallway for a second and then comes back in, followed by the school Dean and…

  
_No fucking way._

  
The Dean clears his throat. “Excuse me, everyone, sorry to interrupt. You have a new classmate.” Beside him, the new student lifts his head, forcing a thin smile.

“Uh, hey. I’m Jonas.”


	2. Rewrites and Mike & Ikes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex keeps running into walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter; I truly got carried away.

“Go ahead and sit with Alex, third table,” Mr. Edgers says. My eyes are glued to my notebook in front of me. My heart is beating a thousand miles a minute because he’s _here_. I want to jump up and hug him, tell him I’m sorry for choosing Michael, tell him how thankful I am that he let me bring him back, tell him I missed him…

“Hey, um…would you mind moving your bag?” Jonas asks.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, um…sorry.” I pull my backpack off of the seat, carefully avoiding looking him in the face. I don’t hear a single thing during Mr. Edger’s lecture. I spend the entire class feeling like my body is in static, ready to move or say something on impulse. Jonas, on the other hand, spends the class period drawing in his notebook margins. He catches me peeking over at him a few times and furrows his brows and moves his arm to cover his pages. When class ends, he’s the first to leave, smoothly slipping his bag over one shoulder and clearing out of the room.

***

“Alex! Did you hear there’s a new stud joining our grade? Seems a little weird, since it’s Senior year. Oh! Maybe he’s like, a ‘Super-Senior’, you know? He kinda looks like the type to get bad grades-”

“You don’t know that Ren. What does it matter?” I shove open the main doors to Camena High’s entrance, probably a little more forcibly than necessary.

“Because this guy has a _reputation_. Like, beat a guy into the sidewalk kind of reputation.” Ren struggles to keep up with me, whispering conspiratorially, “And he’s capital _H. O. T._ ” My face immediately inflames, and a shudder goes down my spine. _oh ew, **literally** my brother. _

Ren gasps and grabs me by my coat sleeve. When I look at his face, he's wearing a huge shit-eating grin. “Oh. My. God.”

“Ren, don’t start.”

Ren squeals and hops into my path. “Oh my Goddddd Alex, you’re totally into him!”

Despite my best efforts, my face heats up again. “I’m really, _really_ not.”

“You are! Alex is hot for the _bad boy_ ,” Ren says in a singsong voice, and I clamp a hand over him mouth.

“Ren, I know listening isn’t your strong suit, but just stop and _listen_ to me. _I. Am. Not. Into. Jonas._ ”

Ren’s words press muffled between my fingers. “You know his _name_ already!”

I roll my eyes and release my hand from his mouth, marching towards his car. My mind is so fired up and scrambled that I run into a wall.

A wall that is actually a little soft. And smells like cigarette smoke.

“Watch it.” Jonas’s words are cutting and agitated, but his expression remains cool as a cucumber. The sun reveals small rings of gold around his irises that I hadn’t seen in the dark of Edward’s Island. His hair has lines of copper, too, and now I can even see light, faded freckles across his nose. I’m so shocked that I end up just staring at him, hoping that, even beyond the divide of forked timelines, that somehow he’ll remember me. For a second his expression softens a little, but his body is still tense towards me.

“Um…Alex, right? Are you okay?”

“Uh…Hmm?” It’s as if my brain is on sabbatical, and I can’t seem to do anything other than just… _look_ at him. Ren steps forward, laughing awkwardly. “Hey, new guy! Don’t worry about Alex, she’s weird but harmless. I’m Ren, her handler.” Ren holds out a hand to Jonas. Jonas’s face immediately betrays an instant and innate dislike of Ren. He doesn’t shake his hand.

“Noted. Nice to meet you, Alex.” He nods his head once towards me, and then turns on his heel. Ren and I watch him cross the lot and throw one leg over the saddle of a dusty motorbike.

“Oh my god, this guy can’t be real.” Ren snickers. As Jonas peels out of the lot I feel as if I’m coming back to myself. Ren pats my shoulder in pity. “That was _the_ most embarrassing thing I have ever seen in my life. And yes, I’m counting that little incident at Mike Peschenko’s party last year.”

***

I lay awake in my bed, cheeks heating at the memory. _That is_ not _how I wanted us to meet. I didn’t even know we_ would _meet…Why is he here?_ I run my fingers along the line of my scalp, my eyes boring into the ceiling. Ren’s jeering voice also echoes through my mind and I thrash harshly onto my side. _No, I’m not into him. He’s my brother._

 _But… is he?_ I shake the thought away as soon as it comes. Everything’s so weird. Michael’s back, but I haven’t reached out…ever since we came back from the Island, all I can think about is Jonas, our last conversation.

_“I have to.”_

_“I know.” Jonas’s expression is soft, devoid of anger, though I can see hurt being buried deep inside of him. He braces his arms on the ledge of the step we sit on, shoulder’s hunching against the chilled breeze._

_My lip trembles, and I find myself instinctively wrapping Michael’s red jacket tighter around me. “I’m sorry, Jonas. It’s not that you’re not a good brother, I just…it was my fault. Michael didn’t deserve to die like that.”_

_“It’s okay to just miss him, too, Alex. Wanting to bring him back doesn’t have to be about what he deserves, but what_ you _deserve. I’ll always be your brother, but… I know I can’t compete, and I don’t need to. I just…want you to be happy.”_

_It doesn’t make sense, but suddenly I’m angry. “How could you possibly be okay with this? How can you sit here and try to comfort me, knowing that I’m choosing him over you?”_

_Jonas winces at my harsh words but doesn’t let it affect his tone. “Because I’m choosing you over myself. Of course I want to stay with you, to keep being your brother, but more than anything else I want you to find peace after we leave here, and I just don’t think you’ll be able to have that if you turn down this chance to bring him back.”_

“But I haven’t found peace since leaving you behind, either,” I murmur, the words hanging above me. Outside my open window there is a symphony of insects and frogs, white noise to my heavy thoughts. I think back to the afternoon, and finally let myself sink into the emotional tar of him _not recognizing me_. Against my best efforts, tears well up and fall down in tracks over my cheeks towards my ears. It feels like my body is emptied of bone and stomach and organs, just…empty of everything. Jonas, my Jonas, is dead. The Jonas who stuck with me through all the loops, sharing the burden of it with me. The Jonas who helped me make amends with Clarissa, once all of us started to remember things between all the loops. The Jonas who made me remember what it was like to have a big brother, even though he and I are almost the same age. The Jonas who opened up to me about his life, about what happened with his mom, about what started him on the path of local menace, about the roots of his crush on Carmen Sandiego… that Jonas was gone forever.

The Jonas I saw today looked right through me, didn’t really see who I was. He didn’t know about his own sacrifice; he didn’t know how much he gave up so that I could be with Michael. The Michael who I, so far, have avoided. I don’t know if it’s my guilty conscience or just a discomfort being around my resurrected sibling, but to avoid Michael, after everything Jonas did to make this possible, seems wrong.

To: Michael

From: Me

_Hey, Michael. I was wondering if you’d_

_want to do something tonight?_

_Hey, kid! Clarissa and I are actually just_

_about to start a movie night; want to join?_

_Sure, as long as it isn’t gross._

_Only a little gross, it’s a romcom. Will_

_mom or dad drive you or do you need a ride?_

_They’re closed off in their offices…_

_I don’t really want to open that can_

_Of worms._

_Fair enough. I’ll be over soon, no worries._

_***_

Michael’s car smells clean. Its worst offense is a collection of gas station receipts in the center console and loose change scattered around the floor, and a few textbooks hitchhiking in the backseat. The truck is much higher up than Ren’s Saturn, so it feels a little bit like I’m floating over the road. My memories, ever shifting, leave some parts of me feeling used to being around him like this, having been to his campus apartment before, while the other parts of me are still trying to figure out how to talk to someone who was dead for two years (if I include the time spent on Edward’s Island.)

“Hey, you’ve been distant since we got back from the Island; I was a little worried, but I’m glad you reached out,” Michael says with a soft expression.

“I’ll be okay. It’s just…difficult to adjust.” I fidget in the passenger side seat, watching main street pass by me.

“I’m with you. Honestly, it already feels a little bit like none of it was real, like I wasn’t ever really there, you know?”

I go quiet, unsure of how to respond. Michael quickly redirects the conversation. “But, hey. It’s over, we all got out okay; we don’t need to talk about it right now. Instead, let’s focus on snacks for movie night.” Michael pulls into a convenience store parking lot.

“Get anything you like, I’m buying.”

A bell chimes when we enter the building. Michael gets held up by the cashier, who knows him from the paper or from his many extracurricular events in town. I move ahead and turn down the snack aisle.

And. _Immediately_. Run into a soft wall.

***

“Oh! Oh my god, I am so, so sorry.”

I look down at whoever bumped into me, and, sure enough, it’s the girl from earlier. _Alex_. “We, uh…we keep running into each other. Well, you keep running into me.” I say, and my mouth lifts one one side of it’s own accord. 

“I know, I’m really sorry-” she pauses, her eyes drifting down to my chest. Well, not _chest_ , exactly.

“You, uh…have some funky anatomy there, Jonas.” 

I look down at the items I’ve grabbed, each one not entirely invisible under the fabric of my shirt and hoodie. “Huh, I guess I do.” I move to go past her, but she stops me, grabbing my elbow.

“You won’t get out of here past the cashier. They’ve got eyes like a mantis shrimp; they’ll see right through you.”

“A mantis shrimp? Sounds serious.”

“Look,” she sighs, “This town is a tight crew. If you do stuff like this, it’ll follow you everywhere within town limits. Let me buy them for you.”

 _There it is._ “I don’t need your charity. Are you going to snitch on me if I leave? Because if not, I’d like to get about my day.”

It seems like her demeanor transforms within a moment, and she lets go of my elbow. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” she shrugs nonchalantly, and step around me, almost smacking me with the flick of her ponytail. She directs her attention to the line of candies down the aisle. I clench my jaw. “I have money, you know.”

She raises an eyebrow, still not looking at me. She remains diligently focused on the Mike & Ikes in front of her. “That’s good; whatever will you use it for?”

 _She seems...a_ lot _more confident right now._

“Hey, kid, did you-” A guy enters the aisle. Sandy brown hair, earnest eyes. He looks me up and down. He’s clean. His shirt doesn’t have a single wrinkle in it, and his red coat rests across broad, absolutely _ripped_ shoulders. _This guy might dress like Jake from State Farm, but his muscles are no joke._ I am suddenly very aware of the wrappers scratching against my skin. _A boyfriend, maybe?_ I tense up, ready to dodge him and crash out the main door, because there’s no way he hasn’t noticed the stuff under my shirt.

“Friend of yours?” He asks, but his expression is impartial, even when I watch his eyes flick down to my shirt. _What?_

Alex seems shaken. Which is weird, since she’s not the one packing at least fifteen dollars of stolen goods. What is she so nervous about? _Probably worried about being caught with someone like me._

Alex clears her throat. “Y-yeah. Yep. We... met in class today, he’s new to town. Michael, Jonas. Jonas... this is my brother Michael.”

 _So, definitely not a boyfriend_.

Her brother holds a hand out to me. “Nice to meet you Jonas. Welcome to Camena.” His smile _looks_ honest, but I know better.

“It’s nice to meet you.” I don’t take his hand. _What is with people in this town and handshakes?_

But, thankfully, the Michael guy says nothing more. No more pressing questions. No trying to convince me to not steal the stuff I’m about to steal, nothing. He just steps around me to look at the candy section with Alex. I clench and unclench my jaw, and finally dump out the items I had stashed onto the shelf beside me. _Fine_.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Alex.” I don’t wait for a reply. I drive my fists into the pockets on my hoodie and leave. The cashier, just as Alex had said, did a very fast and thorough eye check on me as I left. The doorbell rings out as I step outside, and it rings out again from behind me as I kick my bike into gear and pull out of the lot.

***

Michael’s apartment is comfortable. I spend a lot of time here; or, at least, my new timeline-self does. There’s less agitation in it’s walls, everything is open and clean and you can tell that Michael and Clarissa are happy here. And, what’s more, they like seeing me. Which is a little weird, but it’s nice. Michael and Clarissa lean into one another on his couch while I curl up in his second-hand recliner, a bowl of popcorn cradled in my lap. But I’m not thinking about the movie, and my hand moves on an auto-pilot, grabbing one popcorn piece at a time.

My heart is still hammering in my chest from earlier, when I had to introduce Jonas, who I abandoned in another timeline, to my brother, who was once dead but now isn’t because of the fore-mentioned abandoned Jonas. It was so disconcerting because they were never supposed to meet, but…they did. And Michael, being the way he is, didn’t ask me about why Jonas was stealing, or try to convince me to not hang around him anymore. “Jonas is having a rough time, huh?” was all he had said when we left the convenience store. _I wonder what his life is like now? Did his dad end up remarrying someone else?_ I crunch on popcorn, trying to stay focused, stay present, but my mind can’t help wandering back to Jonas. If things hadn’t changed- if I hadn’t changed them- Jonas and I would be doing this right now. I would go home, and he would have gone with me. We could have talked about the Island, _really_ talked, so I could start getting rid of this small, ever-present sickness whenever I think about it. But I can’t have that talk with Michael, for obvious reasons.

After the movie Michael takes me back home, reminds me to not let Mom and Dad’s stuff get to me. When I go inside Mom has already gone to bed, and Dad is reading in the living room. He looks up from his book and gives me a smile.

“How’s Michael?” He asks.

“Fine, we watched that movie that just came out. A bit of a barf-fest if you ask me.”

Dad chuckles, looking back down at his book over the rim of his glasses. “Ah, well. ‘barf-fests’ as you so elegantly put it are the amusements of the young and in love. You’ll probably see more of that around Michael in the upcoming year; it seems like he and Clarissa are doing well. Do you think she’d like to do dinner on Thursday’s with us, when Michael visits? I want her to feel welcome.”

“You’d have to ask him,” I say. “I’m going to bed…night Pop.” He says goodnight to me and I push my legs up the stairs and into my room. I crawl into pajamas and drop onto the covers of my bed, and my phone goes off.

From: Ren

To: Me

_There’s going to be a party this_

_weekend at Mike Peschenko’s house._

_U wanna go?_

I close out of the message. How is he so calm about this? Ren’s already talking about going to parties, and I’m still battling against intrusive memories and nightmares. _It would be very Ren of him to deal with trauma by getting blackout drunk. Plus, no one else would be willing to babysit him while he cross-fades. Also, being drunk is kind of what I want to do right now._

From: Me

To: Ren

_Sure, let’s do it._

I shut off my light and turn over to go to sleep, when my phone buzzes again.

_By the way, it’s a masquerade._

_??? Is it Halloween this weekend?_

_No, Mike’s probably hoping to level_

_out the playing field so someone might_

_make out w/ him._

_If I had to venture a guess._

_Gross, but I do like free_

_alcohol. And I’m sure I have a mask_

_or something from the last few_

_Halloweens._

_I’m thinking the outfit_

_from Halloween 2017. You know_

_the one I’m talking about._

_Ugh, maybe. If I can find_

_it. 2017, Ren? Really?_

_I don’t know, it just gives me big_

_~Manic Pixie Dream Girl~ vibes._

_That makes me hate it._

_I bet Jonas would like it ;P_

_Can you let that go? It’s_

_not as funny as you think it is._

_No_ <3

I mute and close my phone, setting it face down on my bedside table. Ren was wrong about a _lot_ of things, but he was right about one thing: Halloween 2017 was one of my best looks. _And I won’t have to worry about running into Jonas there- he always said he hated those things._


	3. Masquerades and Mixed Affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex and Ren turn up to what can only loosely be defined as a masquerade, in hopes that Alex can try again to get to know Jonas in this new timeline...preferably with minimal embarrassment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS (and SPOILERS) This is a high school party scene (which, if you've ever been to one, is not nearly as organized or well-stocked.) I do not encourage underage drinking; I started when I was fourteen and it was not good for my physical or mental health. The spoiler is that at the end of this chapter Alex will be inebriated and will be led upstairs by someone who she mistakes to be Jonas- I have no intentions of having any rape scenes in this fic, in this or any other chapter, but non-consensual encounters are a reality in party environments. Find good friends, keep your drinks covered, and have a reliable "buddy system" to keep you and those you care about safe.

My sink is stained with teal dye, my towel forever ruined with hair dye and bleach spots. There’s still some staining on the back of my neck and behind my ears, but nothing intensive enough to be noticed at a high school grind fest. When I look up into the mirror, I feel…myself, again. Like I’m reclaiming my identity in this new time. I let my hair air dry while I dig out Halloween 2017. It was one of my edgier Halloween outfits, though a little basic. The theme of the 2017 Camena High Halloween party had been “Welcome to Hell”, venued in the woods behind the school. The dress, forked tail, and horns I leave behind- I settle for dark-washed jeans paired with a cropped red jacket and red converse, my shirt bearing the insignia of Ren’s band, _RHBW_ detailed across the forehead of a skull. My mask from that year was a blood-red lacey bit, and it contrasts violently with my teal hair.

Ren lets out a low whistle when I step out of my house. “That’s…an interesting color combo,” he says, pointing his eyes between my hair, mask, and red jacket. He’s dressed in jeans and an unassuming t-shirt, his mask an extravagant mess of bright Party City feathers and detailing.

“That’s an interesting fashion combo,” I say, the passenger door of his car squealing as I pull it open.

Ren’s mouth is opened a little in shock. “What did you do to your _hair_? Like, I love it, but are you okay?”

“It just feels more like…me, you know?”

“Hmm, looks more like a quarter-life crisis,” Ren teases, and I punch his arm while he pulls out of my parent’s driveway.

***

I never really cared for things like this. In Westedge I only ever went to these parties for the weed, a chance to smoke up where the smell wouldn’t linger in my Dad’s house. I have some sort-of friends that I would hang out with, they’d talk about sex and I’d think about getting new parts for my bike. Occasionally I’d drink too much, get in a fight with the wrong kind of guy, maybe kiss the wrong kind of person. I really didn’t expect there to be a party like this in Camena, which appeals itself as a family-friendly city, where no wrong is done and all the kids are smarter than those in the surrounding areas. I’m already struggling with new classes. Westedge didn’t expect much from its students, so classes were easier, and even in those I was only running in the center of the pack.

It’s clear that this party isn’t like the ones in Westedge. There’s top shelf booze, the venue is a large house with unfettered access to name brand snacks and a bowl of jungle juice. There’s lights, an expensive sound system, and rigid, matching furniture throughout the house, giving it an almost plastic quality. The kid throwing the party, Mike, invited me because I was new, and wanted to see if I could bring weed with me. I look like the type that would know where to get stuff like that, he said. These were South Valley kids playing at North Valley party culture. The masks by themselves were indicative of a “vanilla” nature to this whole thing, more like a school dance than an actual party.

I stick to the wall like I’m glued to it, nursing on a can of beer and flipping through my phone. The mask I’m wearing is one of Mike’s, a simple black one that he’s giving out to people who don’t have them. So far Mike is sated with the weed I brought, not pushing me anymore to “open up” to anyone or join in drinking games, of which there are many. Throughout the night I’m approached by girls (and some guys) with flushed cheeks, asking me where I’m from, if I’m enjoying Camena, if I want to do some shots with them. I take the shots, but side-step the questions. While I don’t particularly mind being hit on by some of the guys, I’m certainly not used to it. Camena, it turns out, is almost the complete opposite of Westedge.

I’m on my third shot when a new couple shuffles into the house. I’ve started to relax into it, and suddenly this whole mask thing is almost a little comforting- everyone is too plastered to recognize anyone else, and I don’t stick out so much, especially while I’m sardined into a crowd surrounding the beer pong championship. One of the new people coming in is wearing an extravagant mask with feathers and sequins, which is…brave. The other stands out like they just walked off the set of a movie or something. She’s wearing a bright red jacket and red shoes, and my mind immediately flits to Carmen Sandiego. Her hair is a startling bright blue color. _I haven’t met anyone at school with hair that color- maybe she’s from another school?_

***

Mike takes Ren and I on a short tour of the house, where the food and drinks are and the off-limits zones. He pushes two shot glasses towards us, and fills them up, spilling over onto the counter which is already sticky with alcohol. Before Mike takes off to return to his party, he makes Ren hand over his car keys. Ren takes his glass and drowns the shot in one go. I try to do the same but the burn in my throat makes me cough. Ren slaps me on the back, teasing me for being a “newbie.”

“Ren I’ve been to more parties than you have.”

“Maybe, but you don’t party as hard as I do. Also, speaking of Jonas-”

“What? We weren’t even talking about him.”

“We should be! This is the perfect venue to get to know him. I mean, he wouldn’t recognize you, now that your hair is different. This could be a second chance for you to get to know him. Without humiliating yourself, I mean.”

My initial reaction is agitation, but…Ren has a bit of a point. _While I might not be interested in Jonas in…_ that _way, I do want to get to know him. Maybe he could still be a part of my life, even if it’s different._

“He’s like, brand new to Camena, he probably isn’t even here,” I sigh, my heart still pounding a little at the idea of getting to know him again, a new chance to not completely alienate him. _Jonas had told me a bunch of times that his party days weren’t his favorite memories…he doesn’t really like this stuff._

_But…that was a different Jonas._

Ren suddenly is smacking my arm with his hand in rapid succession. “Ooh! Smell that? Ooh, someone brought enough ~magic~ here to start a circus. I’ll go do some recon, see if I can find him. I’ll catch up with you later?”

Before I can protest, Ren is pushing through the crowd to a back room, where smoke lingers in the air like a fog. _Why even invite me if you’re going to disappear?_ I head back into the kitchen for another shot. _Because you need a babysitter to make you nachos later. At least pay me._ I throw my head back and tap the empty shot glass on the counter when I finish. My stomach flips when I try to imagine Jonas’s and my re-meeting. I grab a beer from the cooler, cracking open the lid on the edge of the counter. My arms feel shaky, and my confidence is buttoned down with nerves. I tip back the beer and take down a third of the bottle, my fingers flexing over the neck. _Slow down Alex. It’s just Jonas. It’s just Jonas! You know him._ I think, moving my thumb over the lid of my drink while I carry it back into the main room. But do I really know him? This Jonas didn’t spend hundreds of nights getting to know me, didn’t have the pressure of opening up to me because of our parent’s marriage. This Jonas, if he’s here at all, has a _past_. He has an edge to him unsoftened by the circumstances between us in the other time. I don’t know why that makes my body so electrified, like tipping over the first hill of a rollercoaster.

There’s a bunch of different games being played, blaring music with bass tones thumping through the soles of my shoes. There’s so many people inside that the temperature rises ten degrees when I try to make my way through to the dance area. I try to slow down on my intake of alcohol, but I’m already on my second beer within ten minutes. The shots are starting to seep into my blood, and the tension I’d had in my shoulders is starting to melt away, and my hips finally find their way into the flow of the music.

I find a group of girls that I _might_ recognize from classes, enough so that we are able to dance together and have a good time. And by dance, I mean that thing where your arms twist up once in a while, and you move on a swivel until the song hypes you up, in which you _must_ jump into the air _while_ you swivel. I find myself wondering fleetingly where Ren is, but the thought quickly swishes in and out of my mind. I finally commit myself to trying to find him, convinced at this point that Jonas must not be here, or I would have run into him already.

I’m not tripping over my feet yet, but my cheeks and neck feel hot, and my head only spins a little bit- more like a rocking than a spinning. The weed den’s smell is so strong that it immediately sets my stomach off and I back away. “Ren? Are you in there?” I yell, but the music drowns me out. I groan and turn myself around again. There is a large group of people hovering around the beer pong table, and I push closer to get a look. The guy on the side farthest from me makes a big show of blowing on the ping pong ball like it was a pair of dice. When he throws it, he sinks it into the last plastic cup on the other side, and the crowd erupts with a mix of hollers and groans. The loser downs the last cup, looking on the verge of falling over. Mike pats the guy on the back as he’s shuffled away from the table. The cups are refilled on both sides, six each, though the winner had only lost two cups in his last game.

“Who will take on our undefeated champion?” Mike calls. The winner raises a fist in victory, and the way he smiles…seems familiar. My heart leaps. _Here’s my chance._ I push through the people in front of me. “I’ll take a whack at it,” I say, setting myself up at the empty side of the table. The champion grins. “Think you can handle it?” He taunts, earning a series of “ooh’s” from the crowd. I quirk my lip to one side, grabbing the ping-pong ball from Mike and tossing it into one of the cups on the champion’s side. “Can you?” I mock, earning an even louder crow of hoots.

The game is high-energy, each of us sinking into cups in almost equal measure. Between the heavy rock pounding through my body and the thrill of falling into that easy back and forth that I had missed from Jonas, I hardly notice my aim slowly losing accuracy and the additional effort of keeping myself from tilting sideways. After having to chug three half-cups of beer, I start losing the game.

“And our champion remains undefeated!” Mike announces, and I let out a low breath before drinking the last beer on my side of the table. I use the table to brace myself against, but after the high of competition wears off it’s suddenly very clear to me that I’ve had way too much to drink. _Where’s Ren?_ The thought swims aimlessly in my brain, next to _I hope Jonas got as drunk as I did_ and _I think I’m gonna throw up in about 45 seconds._

“Hey, you did good. You okay, sweetheart?” The champion says, and his cheeks are red too. _Serves you right_ , I think at him. _Sweetheart…_

He touches my shoulder lightly. “Hey, you okay? You should probably lay down. Come on.” He places a warm hand over my shoulder and I melt a little. _It’s almost like it was before. It’s like he’s Supervisor Jonas again._ How many times had he taken me under his arm like this when things overwhelmed me on Edward’s Island? How many times? He directs me through the crowd, which, on my own, would have been overwhelming and dizzying. He helps guide my hand to the railing towards upstairs, passing by people making out against the walls or sitting on the arms of chairs and laughing loudly. With each step the overstimulation of the party fades away.

 _Where’s Ren?_ I wonder again, looking behind me, but the thought falls out of my mind as I take another step.

***

The second she opens her mouth I recognize who she is, regardless of her sudden hair color change. It’s clear from the start that she’s at a bit of a disadvantage, at least a couple shots in before she even stepped up to the table. Even I find myself rooting for her, a little disappointed that she loses. Her arms are braced against the table and she looks like she might be sick. I look around quickly for her friend, but don’t see him nearby. I’m about to approach her when her competitor circles around the table and leans in towards her. Then he puts an arm around her. I watch him direct her away, and her steps are stuttered. I feel my muscles coiling a little, though I can’t figure out why; until I watch him lead her to the stairs. _No, not good._

He puts a hand at the small of her back, putting his other hand over hers on the railing. She looks back towards the crowd, almost like she’s confused, or seeking someone out, and then she’s directed up another step. _No way. **No way**._ I slam my glass onto the nearest surface and try to force myself through the thick of bodies, and like any nightmare it feels like I can’t move fast enough. _That could be a friend, or a boyfriend. You don’t know her._ But something in my gut is telling me that I need to follow. I need to make sure. My eyes are stuck on her, and I don’t even notice the amount of alcohol being spilled on me as I push my way between dancers and conversations. I’m still halfway across the room when she crosses the threshold upstairs, my last vision of her only one red converse on the steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more detail on what to expect in the next chapter, refer to the note at the top of this chapter. This is not meant to sensationalize dubious consent, but it is an unfortunate reality; in fact, much of what Ren and Alex do in this chapter goes against the guidelines for safe partying. For all genders it is important to look up safe ways to party, to protect you, those you love, and those around you. I don't condone underage drinking or other substance use- my experience with it when I was younger was not worth the consequences. Wait for college if you can, and practice safe partying. Here is a link with good advice on what to do before, at, and after a partying experience: https://www.betterhealth.vic.gov.au/health/healthyliving/partying-safely-tips-for-teenagers


	4. That Badass Westedge Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonas goes to check on Alex, who inadvertently left alone with someone she believed to be him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to reiterate that there will be no rape or non-consensual activity in this fic. Spoilers of what happens are below, if you want to check for possible triggers.

His hand on my back is the only thing keeping me from falling backwards, and his other hand over mine on the railing keeps me moving in the same direction. The stairs spin like a Van Gogh painting in front of me, and I trip over myself more than a few times.

“ Oof, ’m sorry,” I mumble, and his soft laughter presses through his chest into my back.

“You’re okay, don’t worry about it. Come on, in here.” His voice sounds strange. _Maybe it’s just because I’m drunk._ He turns me into a room at the top of the stairs.

“Here, just sit there a moment, you’re alright.” He says and sets me on the edge of a mattress. I spin a little, and resolve to not move at all, trying to slow the growing sense that I will definitely be sick.

“Didn’t mean to send you out of commission with that last game,” he says good-naturedly. “Can you still see straight?”

“Yeah, just…dizzy. Y’know the drill.”

“Well…you did good. That was the most fun I’ve had all night.” He sits next to me, and I notice that the door, while not completely closed, is only open a crack. Now that he’s closer, and I’m able to focus on anything besides not losing my footing, I realize that this…

“You’re not Jonas,” I say. The guy, who’s cheeks are just as red as mine, looks a little taken aback.

“Uh, no…Luke? From our history class?” He pulls off his mask over his head, revealing a very not-Jonas face.

I do not remember him. Not well, at least. “Oh, okay, um…I’m sorry, I thought you were-”

Luke rubs a hand behind his neck. “Jonas, gotcha. I…I’m sorry, I think I read you wrong. I thought that, downstairs…it’s okay, though. I just thought you were… flirting with me?”

My face flushes. “No, nooooo, no, um. No, wasn’t trying to flirt.” Luke smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Okay. Well, I’m sorry, I just… I’ve kinda had a crush on you for a long time and…” He stops, biting his lip. My head is too light to come up with any sort of intelligent response, and if I didn’t feel that I needed to have a real conversation with him, I probably would have already curled up and fallen asleep. He runs a hand through his hair, avoiding looking at me. “I think I just…saw what I wanted to see. I’m sorry for that.”

The door swings open behind us, and Luke turns.

“Uh, hey. Can we help you?” he says.

“I...” Jonas- the real Jonas- enters the room, mask in his hand. “I came to make sure…”

“Jonas,” I murmur, and I get stuck somewhere between relief and embarrassment.

“So…this is Jonas?” Luke says. He looks Jonas up and down a moment, then forces a smile and stands. “Okay, I’ll…give you two some space.” Luke leaves, closing the door behind him.

***

When I first enter the room, for just a moment, I doubt myself. _What if this is just her boyfriend? What if nothing’s wrong, and it’s none of my business?_ This feeling only grows when I see Alex and the other guy sitting next to each other on the bed, talking. “Can we help you?” the guy says. I had geared myself up for a fight, and I don’t know what to do with the excess adrenaline once I see that, in fact, Alex does seem to be okay, if a little uncomfortable. Before he leaves, the guy sitting next to her looks me up and down -which is super weird- and then leaves the room, eyes lingering on Alex only for a moment before closing the door. _What the hell?_ I look back towards Alex, who is perched on the end of a quilted bed, face and neck almost as red as her jacket. She isn’t, like, blacking out, but there’s definitely something off.

_Okay…what the fuck do I do now?_

“Thanks, for looking out for me.” she says, but her voice is softer than it usually is, and the words are rounded out, less solid than they should be.

“Uh…yeah, no problem.” I linger awkwardly in the center of the room. _Should I move closer? Should I give her space?_ “Are you okay? I mean…was he…”

“I’m okay.” She whispers, eyes closing and mouth lifting in a small smile. “You always make sure of it.”

 _Huh?_ I put my hands into my hoodie’s pockets. “Um…I guess…I mean, I have no idea what you mean but I’m glad you’re okay.”

“C’mere,” she says, patting the bed next to her with heavy slow pats. I freeze, and I _refuse_ to think about how sweaty my palms are when she invites me over to her. She’s obviously drunk, and her lackadaisical vibe around me, even though we barely know each other, makes me feel like I shouldn’t sit next to her, like I need to remain where I am in order to not be “that guy”. _But do the rules change if she asks **you** to sit with **her**? What are the rules for this?_

“Jooooonnnnnnaaaaaasssss,” Alex drawls, her hand pats becoming more insistent.

“Okay! Jeez.” I say, and sit myself as far away from her as possible, hands very firmly tucked into my pockets. Alex fumbles over her own limbs a little and scoots closer to me and my breath hitches.

“Alex-”

“Can I lean on you? Just for a minute?” She asks, and I find myself nodding hesitantly.

“Okay.”

Her hair smells of dye and bleach, and her jacket smells like it’s been stored away for a long time. Musty. I focus on these things so I don’t focus on things that make me feel like an asshole.

“I uh…I like your jacket,” I say, desperate for a break in the silence. She hums happily, and I feel it all through my arm that she’s leaning on.

“I’m sure it has _nothing_ to do with Carmen Sandiego,” She mumbles, and for a second, I wonder if I misheard her, but Alex redirects.

“Hey, Jonas, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I think you’d be a really good big brother.”

I try to stop myself, but a short laugh escapes me. “That’s… not really a question, Alex. Besides, I don’t have siblings. Only child.”

“Hmm. You’d be good at it, trust me.”

“That’s…that’s sweet. Weird, but thanks.” My shoulders start to relax, but my heart is absolutely pounding. I wonder fleetingly if she can hear it before she tells me point blank that my heartbeat sounds like a “fast little train.”

“Hey, so…do you have someone here to take you home safe?” I ask, and her face pinches.

“I don’t know. Ren was here but he left when we got here. He usually does that.”

“Kinda seems like your friend’s a dick,” I say.

Alex snorts. “Yeah, he kind of is.” Her head is laying right on a bone, which can’t possibly be comfortable, and it hurts a little, but I can’t seem to ask her to...stop doing this. Whatever this is.

_Stop thinking, Jonas. Or just, think of literally anything else; naked grandma. Oh ew, no no, forget that. Am I supposed to take her home, now? Where does she even live? And I can’t drive, I drank at least three beers. Jesus._

“Jonas, I think I need to throw up.” Alex mumbles. I almost miss it.

“Uh, oh, shit, um...okay, let’s find a bathroom.” I help her to her feet, and she’s heavier than I imagined she would be. Not in like, a mean way. She collapses in front of the upstairs toilet mere seconds before coughing up everything she’d had at the party. I wait outside the door until I hear the toilet flush and the sink start up. She opens the door and braces almost all of her weight on the door handle. Her mask is off, revealing dark, sparkly eye makeup that’s smudged around the edges.

“Sorry, I am...em-barrass-ing,” she says. There’s still a fumble to her speech, and she sounds even a little more faded out than before.

I shrug. “Hey, no biggie. We’ve all done it. Are you feeling better?”

She tips her head to one side, her ponytail dropping onto one shoulder. “Kinda.”

“Okay, that’s a good start, but... we should probably feed you something besides Bacardi. You need, like, actual food.” She considers for a moment and shakes her head.

“I don’t...I’m sorry, I’m kinda embarrassed? And I would feel weird, being around um…Luke.” It seems like just forming a sentence is difficult, and her body language shifts to discomfort. _I still don’t really know the context of what happened before I got there…should I ask? She seems okay, but…_

“Okay, okay, um...what do you want to do? We can stay up here a little bit longer, or... I mean, I can’t drive but I could help you get home? Get you a uber or something.”

I’m not quite sure how offering to get her an uber led to us crawling out of the bathroom window onto the roof, but here we are. Alex insists she’s done this “a million times”, even drunk, which makes me oh so nervous, but she does seem to know her way around on it, never standing but just scooching over the roof shingles.

“This is...unorthodox.” I grunt, pulling the rest of me through the small window.

“I think you mean _spontaneous,_ ” she whispers conspiratorially.

“No, I don’t think I do,” I whisper back. She leads me to the other end of the roof, towards the back of the house. The roof slants down drastically towards the back corner, likely a small shed attachment, but we’re still about six feet off the ground.

“This doesn’t seem advisable.”

Alex looks back at me and rolls her eyes in an exaggerated gesture. “Come on, _Jonas_. Where’s that badass Westedge spirit? It’s just a little drop.”

“You’ve never even been to Westedge. Probably. Just...ugh, let me down first.” I scoot to the edge of the roof, taking a deep breath before turning around and lowering my legs down, holding on to the roof until my shoes are closer to the ground. I drop land on an already flattened section of an azalea bush, indicating roof-crawlers before us. I look back up to see Alex sitting on the edge, kicking her feet and looking down at me. One of her shoes playfully tap at my shoulder.

“Thanks, ‘Supervisor Jonas’,” she sasses, and I take a deep breath.

“Oh my god you are so drunk. Just... here. Put your hands on my shoulders and I’ll...” my brain short-circuits when her hands grip onto my shoulders, and she scoots forward toward me. “...help you down.” I finish. I find myself holding my breath when I have to grab onto her hips, and only breathe again when I set her on the ground. I take my hands off of her as soon as I can. “Okay. Good.” I say, intelligently.

“Thanks,” she says, but she quickly seems to start the struggle to balance again. “Oh nooooo…’m still dizzy,” she sighs, leaning her full weight on me.

“Jeez! Alex. Alex, we gotta get you home.”

“Noooooooo, my mom would killlllll meeeeee,” she whines. She wraps her arms around my one arm, still swaying a little bit.

“Well...what was your plan before?”

“Before what?”

“Like...what was your plan, after the party?”

She sighs, leaning her head on my arm. I focus on the smell of hair dye. “I don’t know, probably just stay here. Ren drove us, we don’t live that close by. But I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

I sigh. “That’s probably a good idea. I know you’re worried about it, but I really need to get you home.” I think about calling an uber for her, but the weight of the 30 dollars in my pocket reminds me that that’s all I have right now.

“What about your brother?” I ask, and she finally looks at me.

“You mean Michael?”

“Unless you have another brother you can call.”

She looks down again. “No. Just Michael.”

Her brother pulls up in his truck about fifteen minutes later, a little bit down the street because I had taken Alex to get some distance and fresh air. He cuts the engine and hops out around towards me. Alex and I are sitting on the curb in front of a darkened house. My watch reads 1:15 AM. Alex fell asleep on my shoulder as soon as we had sat down, and I try not to look sketchy or guilty over it. She had also taken her jacket off at some point on the walk here, and its set down next to me. Michael’s previous “benefit-of-the-doubt" nature seems to be worn a little thin when he sees me. _He is so fucking ripped._ I shake Alex awake and her eyes open groggily. Michael crouches in front of her and smiles.

“Hey kiddo. Seems like you got into some trouble.”

“Whatever, _mom_ ,” Alex groans, but let’s Michael help her up.

“You’re lucky it isn’t mom. She’d skin you alive,” Michael says with a raised brow, and opens the passenger side door for her to get in. She stumbles a little bit, but once she’s in the seat Michael closes the door. Then he looks at me. _Oh, shit._

“Thank you, for watching out for her.” He says and holds out a hand. I hesitate, but in the interest of _not being on this guy’s bad side_ , I stand and take it. It is the most nervous handshake I’ve ever had.

“Uh, sure, no, no problem at all.” I can feel the back of my neck heating and I level out my voice with a cough. _I can’t figure out if he’s okay with me or if he wants to destroy me. Why the hell am I so nervous? It’s not like I did anything shady._

“Jonas, right?”

“Yeah, yep.”

“Why isn’t Ren with her?”

 _Oh. That’s what he’s mad about_.

“Alex said, well, when I found her-”

“Found her?” Michael is much more intense, now that Alex is fast asleep in the car. My palms sweat.

“Uh...yeah. I... don’t know if I should talk about it, she’d probably want to talk about it herself, I don’t really know the context.”

Michael’s eyes light with anxiety, but he doesn’t press. “Okay.”

“Alex said that she came to the party with Ren, but she wasn’t able to find him for the rest of the night.” I know that I’m toeing a _very_ thin line with a _very_ beefed and protective brother and I do my best to keep my face level.

“Okay. Do you need a lift home?”

I feel a little shocked by the offer but recover quickly. “No, that’s okay, I don’t live too far from here.”

“Okay.” He turns to walk away, but in a fit of major stupidity, I start talking again.

“Uh, sorry, last thing- she probably needs some water and something to eat, she got sick earlier.”

Michael’s smile this time is a little more earnest. “Got it. Get home safe.” Michael drives away, and I stand on the curb, realizing too late that I still have Alex’s jacket.

I carry it with me when I go back to the party. My mask long forgotten, I step inside and am assaulted with the unsettling mix of fruity and meady alcohol smells. The base thumps through my shoes as I poke into every corner, every room, every conversation, until I find him. He’s in a back room suffocated with smoke. On one side of the room three girls pass around a bong and on the other another group of people talk over a small bowl of candied edibles. Ren is towards the back of the room, dragging on a joint and laughing loudly with the others in his conversation circle.

“Hey,” I say loudly, tapping his shoulder. He turns around, still wearing the bright feathered mask. He breaks into a big smile and pulls the mask up over his forehead.

“Everybody, this is Jonas, new to Camena high and probably the love of my friend’s life,” He tries to wrap an arm over my shoulders but can’t reach.

“We need to talk,” I yell over the music. Ren takes one last pull of the joint, making one more parting comment to his group that sends them into cross-faded hysterics, and follows me out into the kitchen where the noise is a little less intense.

“Alex-”

“I _knew_ it, you guys were made for each other. Let me guess, here to ask my blessing?” Ren says, already reaching into the fridge for a bottle of whatever is still left of the alcohol. It takes everything I have to not smack it out of his hands.

“No, I’m not. I’m here to ask you what the hell you were thinking when you left Alex alone like that?”

Ren’s goofy smile flattens. “Um, Alex is a big girl? She knows the deal, I’m sure she’s having fun.” Ren lifts the bottle to his lips, and my mouth gapes.

“That’s how you treat your friend? Stuff happens at parties like this.”

“It’s not like I’m leaving her in downtown, like, _Westedge_ , or something. It’s _Camena_ , Jonas. And, honestly, it’s not really any of your business.” He raises his eyebrows and leans back against the kitchen counter. I have never met anyone so punchable, but I take a breath instead.

“Look, she had to leave because she couldn’t find you, her brother had to come get her.”

“See, so she’s fine. Maybe focus on _your_ relationship with her rather than mine.”

 _How is he this fucking obnoxious?_ I shake my head and step back. “You’re an asshole.”

Ren pulls the bottle away from his mouth incredulously. “Excuse me?”

I know I’ve gone too far. I’ve gotten too angry, too fast, and I try to cool myself down.

“Forget it, Ren.”

“I will,” He says snidely behind me. I feel my entire body bristle, but I keep walking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The person Alex went upstairs with is someone from one of her classes, Luke, who had mistakenly thought she had been flirting with him during the beer-pong game. They sit on a bed in one of the bedrooms in the upstairs of the house, but only talk. Luke does not push her to kiss him or anything else, but confesses that he had a crush on her and apologizes because he believes that he just saw what he wanted to see, i.e, that he felt she was flirting with him. When Jonas comes up to check on Alex, Luke leaves without causing any issue, just broken-hearted.


	5. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers are killer, especially when you can remember every. single. detail. of a night you would rather forget.

My eyes aren’t even open yet when I feel the splitting headache press me to life. 

“Ughhhhh....” I groan, throwing an arm over my eyes. It takes me a moment to put together why I’m laying down, why I have a headache, and why the room I’m in doesn’t smell like an afterparty bender. When I finally start peeling open my lids, there’s soft light coming in through a window on the wall behind the couch I’m lying on, and the room is decorated with soft blues, greys, and whites. On a long coffee table beside the couch there is a glass of water and two small ibuprofens. I sit up, agonizing over the pressure throughout my skull, and one of Michael’s soft throw blankets slides off my shoulder. _Michael_ _’s_ _?_ _Ohhhh_ _....oh no._

I sit up fully, cradling my head in one hand while the other reaches for the ibuprofens and water. My stomach is in a turbulent state, every movement a threat against the delicate balance I have between throwing up and _not_ throwing up. I try to not think about the night before, but most of i t I remember in excruciating detail. _So much for a second chance to not make an a_ _ss of myself in front of Jonas_. I consider standing but think better of it. I hear the sounds of waking from somewhere in the apartment, and then Michael pads into the living room. 

“Morning, kiddo.” he says, and smiles to himself when I grumble and lay my head back in my hands. 

“Morning. Thanks for getting me.” 

“No problem. It’s like I care about you or something.” He walks barefoot into the kitchen, hair mussed, and starts a brew of coffee. There’s opening and closing of cupboards, the fridge, and the sink running; a familiar routine. Even in this timeline Michael has the same morning ritual. Only now it’s in the context of his own apartment. 

“Where’s Clarissa?” I ask, only a little curious about how she’s doing after the Island. _Come to think of it, I haven’t really seen much of Clarissa or Nona. Nona hasn’t even been to school._ Something sizzles on the stove in the kitchen, and the faint smell of eggs puts me on a perilous edge. “Do you really need to cook that?” 

“It’s protein, which is something you need. And Clarissa decided to stay over with Nona last night, I think the Island hit her a little harder than the rest of us.” Something pinches in my chest, considering that I hadn’t once thought to check in with her, too wrapped up in my own re-adjustment back home... One with Michael in it. Michael clears his throat. “Speaking of...was last night some kind of...I don’t know, coping mechanism? For what happened?” Michael asks this question carefully. I suppose we would have to talk about it eventually. 

“I don’t know, maybe. I was just...on edge.” 

“It’s just...I don’t remember you being much of a party girl. It seems a little off color for you and I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

I’m not sure how to tell him that the _heavy_ partying only started after he had died, so I don’t. Some part of me desperately wants to tell him, to tell anyone, but the unbearable truth keeps getting stuck in my throat. After he died, and mom and dad fell apart in an explosion of grief I just...did anything. Anything to forget. But how do you tell someone that? 

“I don’t know, things just spiraled out of control. I’m really sorry that you had to come all the way out there.” 

“I don’t mind being there for you, I’m just glad that you felt you could call me.” 

“I mean, I didn’t at first, but J-” I stop myself. Michael looks away from the eggs a second, turning towards me. 

“I’m glad he was there for you. But...” Michael focuses back on the eggs. “He did mention that there might have been some sort of incident last night. I don’t want to pry but it did make me worry. I just want you to know I’m here if you need to talk about it.” 

_Incident?_ It takes me a minute before I realize that yeah, from Jonas’s point of view he had watched me leave off alone, drunk, with someone into an upstairs bedroom. “No, nothing serious. It was just a miscommunication with one of my classmates who I guess has a crush on me. It was more like an uncomfortable love confession, not... not like anything bad.” Even though it hurts, I lift my head from my hands to look at him directly. “I’m really okay.” 

“Okay.” Michael’s tone is one of relief. He finishes making the eggs and I roll myself up off the couch and sit on a cold stool at his kitchen counter. I persevere through the smell of eggs and eat breakfast with him, both of us picking up our coffee mugs almost in unison. For a while, it’s just forks on plates and quiet sipping. 

“You want to tell me more about Jonas?” Michael says, but his voice has a playful tone to it. 

“Please don’t make me think about that, it’s humiliating.” 

“I don’t know,” Michael tips his head, like he’s thinking. “it’s just…he’s pretty new to Camena, right? You aren’t usually one to get so comfortable with another person, especially this fast.” 

_God, it’s like talking to Ren again_. “I don’t have a crush on him. I just think he’s neat.” 

Michael puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Never said it was a crush thing, but you seem to like him. I think that is…also ‘neat’.” 

*** 

I wake up groggy, but thankfully not hungover. I run both of my hands along the line of my scalp and through my hair to relieve the pressure there and massage into my temples, rubbing away the images of my dream, which only gets stranger each time I have it. I stare at the ceiling for a while, wondering if Alex is having as much of a rough morning as I think she is. I roll my head to the side, her red jacket laying over the back of my desk chair. I sit up, still in last night’s party clothes which, on closer inspection, absolutely reek. I try to keep my noise to a minimum, knowing that Dad must have only gotten home from work a few hours ago from his night shift. After a brief shower and a change into my house clothes, I walk down the long hallway through the house to the kitchen and find my dad tinkering with something at the kitchen table, which is a little too large and out of place for the new house. 

“What are you still doing up?” I ask, pulling open the fridge. 

“Waiting for you to get up. I noticed before going to work last night that you were already out. Didn’t you get my messages?” 

_Oops_. “Sorry Dad, I didn’t think to check.” When I say this, I can feel his sigh across the room. 

“I just want to make sure I’m keeping track of you, keeping you out of trouble. It’s what your mother would want.” 

_Wow, pulling out the big guns_. 

“If I could handle myself in Westedge, Camena won’t be an issue.” 

“And you _do_ need to handle yourself. I want a fresh start for you. Give you a chance to grow roots in better sunlight.” He continues to tinker, putting a screw between his lips while he works something open. 

“I know. I want that too. Really.” I sit at the table next to him with a carton of orange juice in tow. 

“Then maybe you can start by telling me where you were last night?” He sets down his project, sipping some coffee from a mug. 

“A party. A lot of my classmates were going, and it seems like it's mostly just uppity. There wasn’t anything super weird going on. I figured it would be an okay way to break the ice.” 

“Hmm. Well, now that the ice is broken maybe we can avoid parties for a while, just in case? Maybe try doing sports, or a school club. If you want, you’re welcome to invite friends over. Just...keep it vanilla, for a little bit.” 

“That’s...not really how you use that word. Different context.” 

Dad rolls his eyes. “But you get my point. Think you could do that? And just keep me updated?” 

I groan inwardly, but nod and sip on orange juice. He pats me hard on the shoulder and returns to his project. I drink the orange juice with him, the earliest rays of sunlight painting the off-white walls amber. The cheap linoleum glitters with it, and through the kitchen window a breeze slips into the room. The fresh air feels good, like it can dislodge the smell of alcohol and sickness from my nose. 

“I’m gonna go ride,” I say, and my dad nods. I put away the orange juice, grabbing my riding jacket off the hook by the door. I wince when the screen door, too light and too loose on its hinges, slaps back against the fetters of the house as I leave. A small windmill spins it blades in a slow, squeaky sequence in the small garden by the trailer next to ours. I give a small, awkward wave the neighbor sitting on his small porch there. He’s an older man, with 50 years of scowling etched into his face. He stands, overlooking his garden into ours like he’s on a parapet, a king surveying his kingdom. I steer clear of his flower beds, which are meticulously cared for and neatly rowed. He nods to me as I saddle over my bike and pull my helmet on over my head, tightening his maroon robe. I have yet to see him wear anything else. 

It does feel good to ride. I may not have the wind going through my hair or whatever, but I can feel it over my forearms and under my sweater. My bike, which I got second hand from one of Dad’s friends at the vehicle graveyard outside Westedge, isn’t particularly grand, or even particularly fast, but something lights inside me when I can jack my boot against its gear shift, or turn it on and hear it roar to life. 

I cut my engine and pull off my helmet when I reach the beach. It isn’t much, and it’s closed on one side by some sort of factory and on the other side with a ferry dock. I leave my bike in the parking lot overlooking the sandy shoreline, and make my way down the wooden steps. There’s a lone picnic table off towards the left and a pier with a lighthouse towards the right, closer to the ferry. I walk down the pier and enjoy the soundlessness. No people talking, or kids screaming, or groups of teenagers milling around, smoking. There’s the cry of a seagull and the applause of the waves against the shore, but nothing else. 

The water gets deep quickly, shifting colors from light to dark as I walk above it. The ocean slams heavily against the boulders surrounding the pier, spitting water up onto the walkway. There are tall railings on either side of me, bright red. At the end of the pier, the lighthouse is larger than it looked from a distance. It’s red, or, _was_ red at some point. It’s flaked and old and rusted, and it's incredibly cold to the touch, imbued with a sense of hollowness. I go around it and prop myself against the railing at the tip of the pier . I squint, and see tha t there’s a... _something_ in the distance, large, imposing, and shrouded in a thin mist. The sun, still not quite risen, doesn’t drown out the ebb of a small red light crossing over the water. There’s no reason for it, but that small red light, isolated in the vastness of ocean around it, sends a chill down my spine. 

*** 

After Michael drops me back at home in the afternoon, I call Nona. When she picks up, she sounds tired, but happy to hear from me. I tell her I’m sorry for missing her birthday, but she says she decided to have it a little later this year since all of us were junked up after Edward’s Island. She asks if I could make it there tonight, in fact, if I’m up for it. They’re having a cake. 

“Yeah, I can be there tonight. Who all is going?” I ask. 

“Well...I’m thinking just us, you know, who were on the Island. So that we don’t have to hide it. I mean, my grandfather will be home but he’s usually asleep by eight-thirty or so.” 

“Okay, yeah. That sounds fun. I’ll see you guys tonight.” I hang up, flopping back onto my mattress. _I really hope Ren doesn’t make_ _a thing of last night._ I huff, and open up my messages. 

Messages: From Ren 

_Alex, where did you go? Did_

_you find ~Jonas~?_

_< 10:52 PM> _

_Can you bring me some nachos_

_or something? I don’t want to_

_get up._

_< 12:04 AM> _

_Alexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

_< 12:06 AM> _

_Jonas has lost my blessing. No_

_longer hoping you become his wife._

_< 1:18 AM> _

Oh my god, the drama. I write back: 

_To answer your questions, 1. I went home and_

_2\. I cannot bring you nachos.Also, what’s_

_your deal? Like, so glad you’re done playing_

_matchmaker, but what changed?_

Ren’s typing bubbles pop up immediately. 

_He got all upset with me for not_

_babysitting you at the party, and I was_

_like, um, Alex is a big girl??? He just_

_totally killed my buzz. BJV._

_BJV?_

_Big Jerk Vibes. The biggest._ >:( 

When did Jonas talk to Ren? Was it after I left? _I guess no matter the timeline those two are just not going to like one another,_ I think, smiling to myself at the thought of Jonas sticking up for me. 

_Well, if I’m honest Ren, I was_

_pretty mad when you ditched me at_

_the party._

_??? You’ve never cared about that!_

_You never stick around long enough_

_to ask! I don’t want to go to parties_

_if it means you’re just gonna get_

_cross-faded and ask me to bring you_

_stuff._

_Fine! Whatever. I just thought_

_you were cool with it._

_Well...I’m not. So next time we go_

_somewhere together can we actually hang_

_out? Like Nona’s birthday tonight. No_

_weed, no binge drinking, just... you know._

_casual. Cake and ice cream and board games._

Ren takes a longer time to respond this time. 

_Yeah, of course. I’m not a jerk_

_*on purpose_

_Mean!!!_ :P

Even though Ren and I have _kind of_ made up, I don’t quite feel like asking him for a ride to Nona’s birthday party; my dad is the one to drive me over. We talk in the car, and it’s strange to remember a time when he just...stopped being around. When he and my mom got divorced in the other timeline, he came by less and less. It hurt too much, I think, to see our house knowing that Michael was gone and that he had no more role in it. But now he’s laughing and making terrible dad jokes with me, because even if he and mom have grown distant, he and I haven’t. But still, we don’t talk about mom. 

I ring Nona’s doorbell and her grandfather answers. He’s a stocky man, and looks a little younger than I expected. 

“You must be one of Nona’s newer friends. Come on in.” His smile is friendly and infectious, and I find myself smiling back. “Thanks. Do I leave my shoes on, or...?” 

“Off, please, if you don’t mind.” I kick off my shoes next to Ren’s. “Nona and the others are upstairs, if you want to join them. I’ll be watching my soaps if you kids need anything.” Nona’s grandfather wanders off into another room, and I head up the stairs. Nona’s room is large and comfortable, with a soft bed and collection of plush items from various T.V. shows. Her walls are orange, which is startling at first, but looks really nice. Everyone else is seated on the floor in a circle playing a card game except Ren, who is absorbed in something on his phone. 

“Michael, I didn’t know you would be here,” I whisper to him as I sit down. Clarissa, on Michael’s other side, pokes her head around him to look at me. I’ve gotten so accustomed to her churlish nature on the Island that it’s surprising to see that her expression is good-natured, if a little taunting. 

“We weren’t sure if you’d be here either, what with your next-level partying last night.” 

I jab Michael in the ribs. “Did you tell the FedEx guy about that, too? Pretty sure I implied I was _embarrassed_ about last night.” 

Michael laughs and shields his side. “Ouch! Clarissa is not the FedEx guy, Alex.” 

“Clearly,” Clarissa snorts. I roll my eyes. 

“Well, I _am_ here, cured of my hangover as of...twenty minutes ago or so. I think it was the tequila that really got me.” 

“If you’re feeling up to it there’s cake in the kitchen, Alex. And... I’m glad all you guys could make it,” Nona says. “It’s been...weird. Being back. Feels like every time I blink or close my eyes-” 

“-you’ll open them on the Island. I get it. It’s hard to fall asleep, most of the time,” I say. 

“I kinda get that. I’m just force-shutting down my brain whenever it starts to freak out,” Clarissa says. She looks over at Michael with a soft expression and leans onto his shoulder. “The important thing is that we all got out.” Clarissa and Michael share a kiss, and Nona and I avert our eyes. Nona looks like she wants to disappear. 

“Barf,” Ren interjects, finally looking up from his phone. 

“You guys are gross,” I laugh, covering my eyes in an exaggerated show of my discomfort. 

“Oh grow upppppp,” Clarissa groans, and Michael takes her hand. 

“Ooh! you know what we should do?” Ren exclaims, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Truth or Slap!” 

*** 

_This is weird, right? What I’m about to do is_ _kinda_ _weird._ I’m back in my room, the door firmly closed. I prop my forearms on my thighs, phone in my hands. I’ve typed and retyped a bunch of times, agonizing over how to ask it so I don’t sound like a creep. I let out a sharp exhale and type a new message, immediately pressing “send” so that I don’t chicken out again. 

To: Mike (Camena classmate) 

_Hey, I helped Alex get a ride home_

_from the party last night but_

_she forgot her jacket. Do you_

_have her number?_

Okay, yeah. That’s not too weird. 

_Hey dude! I can give it to_

_you if you want, but you_

_could just give it back at_

_school on Monday._

I don’t want to do that. 

_Totally, but if my dad sees_

_it he’s gonna jump to_

_conclusions and freak out._

That’s not true. 

_Ohhhhh, gotcha. No prob._

Mike sends me her number. I’ve never been this weird about having someone’s number. But now that I have it, I face a whole new dilemma of how to message her. _This is still weird, right? She didn’t give me her_ _number;_ _she’ll be weirded out. But I can’t just keep_ _holding on to_ _her jacket either_ _, that’s somehow worse._ I flop back onto my mattress and groan. 

“ _Why_ am I being _this weird_ about this?” I ask quietly, and my dad snores loudly in the next room as a response. “It’s not a big deal!” I try to convince myself, but I feel stuck. 

To: Alex (Blue Hair) 

_Hey, sorry if this is weird..._

Nope, don’t like that. 

To: Alex (Blue Hair) 

_Hey, it’s Jonas. You forgot_

_your jacket._

That sounds kinda mean...ugh. 

To: Alex (Blue Hair) 

_Hey, it’s Jonas. Mike gave_

_me your number._

Okay...that’s not as bad. 

To: Alex (Blue Hair) 

_Hey, it’s Jonas. Mike gave_

_me your number so that I_

_could let you know I have your_

_jacket, you forgot it last night._

Okay...Okay, I think that’s it. My thumb hesitates over the send button, and then commits. 

*** 

The room is in an uproar when Ren is forced to tell everyone about his one-time fling with Mike, previously only known by me. My phone dings. 

From: <Unknown Number>

To: Me 

_Hey, it’s Jonas. Mike gave_

_me your number so that I_

_could let you know I have your_

_jacket, you forgot it last night._

My face inflames. The embarrassment continues. 

_I am so sorry about last_

_night, I’m so embarrassed._

*** 

I’m surprised when the response comes so quickly. I read over the message and sigh with relief. _Okay, she doesn’t think I’m a creep, that’s good._

_***_

_No worries, Alex. Happens._

_Are you feeling better?_

I’m not sure why I feel like I’m doing something sneaky, but I angle my phone so that no one can look over and read it. 

_Very recently, yes. But_

_I may never fully recover_

_from the shame._

*** 

I chuckle to myself, relaxing back into my headboard. Daylight fades away outside, and I switch on my lamp. 

_It’s really not that bad._

_You would, in fact, be wrong._

_Apparently my brother told,_

_like, everybody. Well, one_

_person, and that person told_

_everyone else._

_And now I’m at a friend’s house,_

_hiding behind a piece of cake so_

_that they can’t call on me for_

_“Truth or Slap.”_

I press a knuckle to my mouth. “Oof,” I say out loud, to no one in particular. I text back. 

*** 

_Oof, lol._

_What the hell is “Truth_

_or Slap?”_

I look up from my phone briefly, making sure I haven’t been noticed. 

_My friend Ren made it up. It’s_

_exactly like Truth or Dare except_

_if you’re caught lying, you get_

_slapped._

_That sounds like exactly_

_zero fun._

_Eh, most of the time yeah. But_

_I do get to slap Ren sometimes,_

_so. Silver lining._

_Valid._

_Speaking of, did you call Ren_

_out last night? After I went_

_home?_

Jonas doesn’t respond immediately. I take the opportunity to put my phone down and pretend I’m engaged in the game for one round, then retreat back into mine and Jonas’s conversation. 

*** 

Until this exact moment I hadn’t been worried about confronting her friend. Suddenly it feels like I’ve stepped over a line. 

_I did. I’m sorry, I wasn’t_

_thinking. Hope it didn’t cause_

_too much trouble for you._

_Ren wasn’t super happy,_

_if that’s what you mean,_

_lol._

_But I’m not mad. I guess_

_it inspired me to be honest_

_with him. We’re ok now._

We just keep talking. Well, texting. But she’s...fun. She’s fun to talk to. I don’t know what that means, yet but...it means something. Because when I talk to her it feels so natural, a smooth and lazy back and forth that I don’t usually find with other people. 

*** 

“Alex, truth or slap,” Clarissa says. My head jolts up from my phone and I quickly tuck it away under my thigh. I hadn’t even noticed Michael and Nona have left the room. I hear them downstairs, talking with Nona’s grandfather. 

“Sure, shoot,” I say, trying to sound as casual as possible. 

“Who have you been texting all night?” Clarissa asks, her eyes positively serpentine. I purse my lips and sigh in defeat. 

“You guys are gonna be weird about this,” I complain, but Clarissa shakes her head at me. 

“Doesn’t matter, you have to answer.” 

I take a deep breath and hunch my shoulders. “I was texting with Jonas. But it’s _not_ a crush thing.” When I say this, Ren pouts. 

“You sure about that?” Clarissa teases, and I cross my arms. 

“Nope, you only get one question.” 

“Yeah, but you’re _lying_ ,” Ren taunts. 

“I didn’t lie, I _was_ texting Jonas.” 

Ren pretends to inspect his nails. “But you lied about not having a crush on him. I hate him, but _obviously_ you don’t. So. prepare yourself for punishment.” 

“I didn’t lie about that either! Just. Can we move on?” I say, and my voice betrays agitation. 

Ren rolls his eyes. “Fine, since you’re cranky you don’t have to play. But let’s do one more round.” 

“You can’t ask me any questions,” I assert, and he nods in agreement. 

“No problem. Give me your phone.” 

“What? No. Why do you want my phone?” 

“Because I’m gonna ask Jonas a question! He should get to play too, since you guys are so close.” 

Clarissa raises her eyebrows and grins. “Ooh, fun. Let’s do it.” 

I open my mouth to protest but Ren grabs my phone before I can stop him. He types in my phone password- which I definitely never gave to him- and dials Jonas’s number. I get up to take it from him but Ren keeps me at arm's length. 

*** 

I had thought she fell asleep, or was joining back in her party, but my phone lets off a series of vibrations on my desk. _She’s calling me?_ I clear my throat before answering. 

“Hey Alex. Um...what’s up?” _I am so lame._

“Hi, Jonas! How have you been?” Ren’s voice is a syrupy sweet tone. 

“...Ren? Why do you have Alex’s phone?” 

“Because we’re playing a fun game and I felt bad that Alex was leaving you out.” 

_Bullshit._

“I think I’ll just sit this one ou-” 

“Truth or Slap Jonas: Do you have a crush on Alex?” 

I freeze, and my face heats up to my ears. On the other end of the phone I hear the grating laughter of another girl and Alex telling Ren to give her phone back and knock it off. 

“Nuh uh, Alex, the question has been posed. Alright, got you on speakerphone now, feel free to answer anytime now Jonas.” 

“I-” _I don’t know...maybe? What do I even say, we just met and... god I hate this guy_ _, if I say no will I hurt her feelings? But would it be true if I said yes? Would that be leading her on?_ All these questions run through my head at the same exact time, tumbling over each other in my panic. I hang up. 


	6. After the Beep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens after Jonas hangs up.

The call disconnects with a _boop_ noise. 

Ren snickers, huffing in triumph and handing the phone back to me with a pop of his hip. I just stare at the screen. Something twisted and confused coils in my stomach. _Does_ _he?_ I don’t know what to feel. Initially I’m grossed out, that’s not what he is to me...but he also isn’t who he was before; he is a completely different Jonas from the one I said goodbye to on those steps on Edward’s Island. One that _is_ _n’t_ _my brother_. One that has never been my brother, but I’ve been seeing him all this time as... 

But I haven’t, have I? There have definitely been moments, ones where I falter a little bit. Moments in the far _f_ _ar_ back parts of my mind that acknowledge the very simple fact that this person is not, and never has been, my brother. Without meaning to, I find myself shaking my head to myself. _No...no this is too weird, this is too...no. No way am I feeling anything close to that..._

I grip my phone in both my hands, unable to move it or put it away. I feel stuck, standing rigidly, and Ren’s smile has a bit of a mean smirk in it. “Wowwwww,” he drawls. “Alex is actually speechless.” 

“Isn’t that, like, good news?” Clarissa says from her recline against the bedpost. “You’re not even a little bit pleased that he’s into you?” 

“He didn’t say that,” I murmur. 

Clarissa scoffs. “A guy doesn’t just _hang up_ when he’s asked a question like that. Not unless he’s scared to admit his feelings.” 

“He can’t have feelings like that. It’s...it’s all wrong. All of this. I can’t...” My fingers clench and unclench on the borders of my phone case. Clarissa’s expression shifts to something kinder. 

“Hey, you okay? What’s got you so junked up, I thought you liked him?” She stands and comes over towards me, but I step back. “I think I need to go home,” I whisper, and walk out the door. 

“Oh my goddddd, it’s not that deep, Alex. Come back to the party!” Ren calls after me, but I don’t respond. I start putting on my boots in the entryway downstairs. Michael and Nona must hear Ren and I agitating one another, because they show up behind me. 

“Don’t ruin it, Alex, it’s not like the end of the world that the world’s lamest guy likes you,” Ren cajoles. 

“You wouldn’t understand.” I accentuate my words with a harsh pull on my laces. 

Michael puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey kiddo, are you okay? What’s going on?” 

I shake my head again, feeling crowded, feeling gross, feeling out of place. I sigh. “I just... I’m sorry Nona, I need to go home.” 

“That’s okay,” Nona says, but the lilt in her voice shows her concern. 

“I’ll drive,” Michael offers, but I shake my head. 

“I want to walk.” 

The wind is the perfect amount of cold, making my cheekbones chilled but not numb. It’s 8:30, so the sky is already dark, and the streetlights make large halos on the sidewalk, bugs appearing then disappearing as they cross beneath the beams of light. The walk isn’t too far, but long enough to make me regret not wearing better walking shoes. Long enough for me to feel ashamed for ruining Nona’s party. Long enough for my brain to do its full spiral about...all of what’s going on with Jonas. _There might not even be something going on with Jonas. Hanging up does not mean he’s into me. But that doesn’t change that I... god._ My stomach still feels nauseous, slippery, and heavy, and agitated, and... fluttery. Which only accentuates the already-present nausea. _What’s wrong with me?_ _Is_ _there something wrong with me?_ _Did I_ _,_ _somehow_ _,_ _always feel this? Even before_ _the timeline c_ _hanged_ _?_

Unfortunately, I don’t have an answer for any of these questions. All I have are intrusive thoughts, images of how things were before, and how they could be; those thoughts are like a horrible carousel in my brain, contradicting images that makes my heart feel stretched beyond its limits. It’s not like...I feel anything weird _that_ strongly. It’s just an inkling, a small open space that I wish was more definitively closed. I spent a lot of time with Jonas on the Island. Of course, I know how his hair looks when he ruffles it, but it never made me feel anything. I know what his arms look like when he pulls himself up over the cliffs. I know his smile like the back of my hand, but if I’m honest, I saw it all a little differently last night, at the party. It was the alcohol, or the stress, or...something, that started this. Just a side effect. Not a sickness. 

_Just a side effect, not a sickness_ . I nod to myself, finally able to take a steadying breath. I go straight up into my room and curl up on my bed. I hold my phone close to my chest, my heart beating through my shirt. _What do I do?_

_***_

_Fuck. Fuck. What did I just do!?_ My phone sits dead in my hands. _I just hung up. That’s so much weirder than really anything else I could have done._ My brain tries to run through alternative scenarios, and of course all of them seem better than what I did. _God, she’s_ _gonna_ _know. She’s_ _gonna_ _know that I like her_ _, maybe_ _. I like being around her, at least._ _I wonder what she’s thinking...did I just ruin whatever we had?_ I don’t let myself entertain the idea that she might feel anything like I do. She definitely thinks I’m weird, she definitely thinks that I’m an asshole for hanging up, I’m definitely not smart enough for her- only an idiot hangs up on a person they like. _Though I guess_ _I technically_ _h_ _ung_ _up on Ren_ , I think to myself, and it consoles me a little bit. 

_Should I...text her back?_ The thought hovers like a small swarm of anxious bees in my mind. _God I’m_ _really bad_ _at this._

I wake up on Monday feeling absolutely drained. She hasn’t texted or called since last night. I stayed up until around 2am, just waiting, but nothing popped up. My window to deal with it and apologize or send anything to her has long passed. I nod to the maroon-robed neighbor in the next yard and peel off towards school. When I get there, I scan the small crowds on the front lawn and sidewalk and bus drop off for her teal hair. I have her red jacket in the crook of my arm. I mean, I want to return it to her, but really, it’s the only thing I can think of to initiate a conversation. When I do see her, my breath hitches. _Nope. Nope, can’t do this_ _._ She has headphones on, taking a small leap off of the bus steps before heading for the front doors of the school. I stand like an idiot in the middle of the parking lot, her jacket under my arm. 

_Just go over there. Move your legs._ But despite my demands, my legs do not budge. _Should I just_ _go_ _home?_ As desperately as I want to do that, to not have to figure out some awkward small talk with someone who I hung up on, and who I might...like, I also feel drawn towards her, wanting to text with her again like we did last night. To maybe...build something? But I have to _talk to her_ first. 

I put her jacket in my locker, for now. I’ll give it to her in science, where we will be forced to sit next to each other for fifty minutes and do some inane assignment together. I hope to not see her until then, give myself time to figure out something smoother to say than, “I hung up on you. Here is a jacket.” Those are the two absolute truths, but I’d like to wrap an apology in there. Lunch ends too soon, and my walk to my locker is too fast, and my head is firing off little anxiety bullets that sweat on my brow. I want to kick myself when I realize I left her jacket in my locker, the one thing I needed to remember, but I’m already in the doorway of the classroom, and she’s already looking at me and then _very definitively_ looking away. I don’t know how to tell if her blush is caused by embarrassment, or...whatever. The bell rings, and everyone else has already sat down with their partners, and there is but one, chilly gray stool available, next to Alex. I set my backpack on the ground slowly, my shoulders a little hunched when I rest my forearms on the table. I find myself averting my eyes too, but I finally work up the courage to say something. I’m cut off by Mr. Edgers starting class, but Alex hears that first attempted syllable, meeting my eyes with her own, and her face is beet red. 

“Hi,” I manage. 

“Please no talking during the lecture,” Mr. Edgers says, his voice like a knife through the tension between Alex and I. He looks over his shoulder at me with a sharp, pointed expression. That’s an expression I’m used to. 

“Sorry, sir.” I say, and he resumes his speech. I catch Alex’s expression in the corner of my eye, and she’s smiling, biting back a laugh. I take out my pencil and paper, pretending to take notes, but slide my notebook over just enough for Alex to notice. 

*** 

Jonas’s notebook slides over the glossy black countertop, just a few inches, but when I look down there’s a small note there. _I’ve never seen his handwriting_ _,_ I think, and that excites me somehow. His writing is blocky and insanely small. I pretend to continue my own notes as I read: 

_Sorry I hung u_ _p._

I open up my notebook onto a new, empty page. I only feel a little self-conscious when I realize my handwriting is worse than his. I try to shove out my complicated feelings, hoping that we can try to go back a little, before the phone call. _This might be the only time a time loop would be beneficial,_ I think to myself. 

_It’s honestly fine. Ren’s an asshole._

Jonas smiles at the paper but changes his expression before Mr. Edgers can see. I can’t seem to stop my brain from cataloging how sharp his jawline actually is, or how his smell is different from what it was, on the Island. Something more artificial, but still with that woodsy undertone he got climbing around Edward’s Island. _He didn’t climb around Edward’s Island_ , I remind myself. 

I notice his hands while he writes, how the muscles work under his skin, how the bones move, the fact that his hands are huge, compared to mine. I know that, somewhere in my brain I’ve seen all these things together. I _know_ him. But suddenly it’s like I’ve never really seen him before. Jonas’s elbow knocks slyly against mine and I look down, realizing he’s written another note: 

_I have your jacket still. It’s in my locker if you want to grab it with me after class._

I can’t explain why that makes me feel things. Kind of...like I’m excited? Being with him in this setting is like seeing a whole new side to him that I didn’t get to have, before. 

_O.K._ I write back. He pulls his notebook back in front of him and takes notes. 

After class I follow him out, and catch a few eyebrows raising in my direction. He’s tall, so I can’t really see around him as we squish through the bodies crowding the hallways. More than a few times I’m pushed a little bit into his back. His locker, it turns out, is at the complete other end of the school building, by the gym. When we get to it, he’s quick at turning the combination and popping the locker open. It’s pretty bare inside, but there are a few sticky notes taped to the backside of the locker door, but it’s closed again before I can read them. He hands me my red jacket. 

“It had gotten a little fireball spilled on it, so I just soaped and rinsed it until the stain was gone,” Jonas says, rocking back on his heels. 

“Oh,” I say, “That was...gentlemanly.” ‘ _gentlemanly?’ God._

Jonas smiles, but it’s obvious that he’s on the verge of saying something. Without meaning to, I pop my hip, cross my arms, and quirk a brow at him. “Spill it, whatever it is. I can tell your brain is whirring at, like, a million miles a minute.” Jonas’s expression is a little shocked, but he recovers quickly. 

“Yeah, right to the point.” He squares himself so he’s facing me more directly. _Woah, he’s being so serious._

He clears his throat. “I don’t know, yet, what my feelings are. About you, I mean. Ren threw me off and I panicked, and... but my point is that if nothing else I like talking to you, and I think you’re cool, or whatever.” He pauses, taking a breath. I’ve stopped breathing. “I don’t think we know each other well enough, to, you know, know if this,” he says, pointing between us, “if there’s something here. Doesn’t mean a relationship necessarily, but...yeah.” 

I'm somehow both drawing a blank and filling pages and pages with thoughts, causing a paper jam in my brain. I’m staring at him I realize, and I see his expression start to shift uncomfortably. I shake off my nerves and just focus on him; not who he is, or who isn’t in relation to _me_ , but just...who he is. _It’s just Jonas_. 

“I also like talking to you. And you’re _passably_ cool,” I say, and thankfully that elicits a hesitant smile from him. “So let’s hang out sometime. Probably no alcohol though, I’ve sworn it off for at least a month.” 

It’s only once I get home that I have a record-scratch-freeze-frame moment. 

_Did I._ _.. just_ _ask him out on a date?_


End file.
